


sweet like honey

by thisworldisawhore



Series: Teratoma [8]
Category: The Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Blood Drinking, Dubcon in that regard, Fingering, I mean a LOT, M/M, Mentions David bottoming, Michael is human, Non-negotiated incest, Non-negotiated threesome, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostate Stimulation, Sammy’s undying love declarations, Shameless Smut, Sibling Incest, Sweet Tender Sammy, Tender Sammy Kisses, Threesome - M/M/M, Vampire Sam, Vampires, established relationship between Michael and David, first time for Michael and Sam (maybe), five entire seconds of something resembling a plot but isn’t a plot, forgive me god, handjobs, literally no plot, lots of foreplay, lots of them - Freeform, maybe some anatomical liberties taken, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:56:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23678533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisworldisawhore/pseuds/thisworldisawhore
Summary: ”Sam?” Michael echos, and his lust-addled eyes flutter and roll before they land on Sam’s face, and Sam’s unsure still, not sure what Mike wants, but it’s such a beautiful sight seeing Michael like this, bleeding and writhing, pupils blown.-Can be read alone!
Relationships: David/Michael Emerson/Sam Emerson
Series: Teratoma [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/707100
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	sweet like honey

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to nicotinedaydream.
> 
> This is pure filth start to finish, not one ounce of plot, begins right in the middle of some sexytimes, and it’s literally longer than any of my other posted single chapter works, go figure.
> 
> Anyway this started as a David/Michael drabble and Sam inserted himself and lord this just grew out of control, but surely to god someone besides me needed it.
> 
> Takes place in Teratoma/Disarray’s timeline, but rather far in the future of where it’s at now. It can be read alone—literally there’s no plot. None. Which is why I posted it separately and out of order. :)
> 
> Title from Kerli’s “Diamond Hard,” which is unrelated.

David’s hands rake up under his shirt, human nails scratch and then the flat of his palms soothe. Michael murmurs his name and leans back into him, David’s hands are good, good, _good_ on his skin. 

David rocks against him, lets Michael feel the hard line of him, digs fingertips into the cave of Michael’s hipbones, makes him keen. David chuckles, mouthing at the delicate skin behind his ear, and trails down to the still bleeding junction of Michael’s neck and shoulder. Michael stretches his arm back, cups the back of David’s head, holding David against him.

David locks eyes with Sam from across the room, then drops a hand to the front of Michael’s jeans, squeezing his hard cock. His other angles Michael’s head toward him, kissing him slow and wet and filthy as Michael makes breathy noises against his mouth.

He pops the button of Michael’s jeans, pushes them down far enough to get his leaking cock out and _strokes_. Michael moans. Michael is too wrapped up in David’s touch to notice his little brother still watching, mouth slack, and spots of pink high on his cheeks.

David makes eye contact with him again and this time he mouths _come here_. Sam, mouth watering, does.

“Mike?” Sam asks, hand reaching out to touch his face. He’s close, leaving just enough room between them for David’s hand to work.

“Sam?” Michael echos, and his lust-addled eyes flutter and roll before they land on Sam’s face, and Sam’s unsure still, not sure what Mike wants, but it’s such a beautiful sight seeing Michael like this, bleeding and writhing, pupils blown.

“Sammy,” he murmurs, lips swollen and slurring, and reaches one hand up to Sam’s face.

Sam swallows, hesitant but entrapped, fingers skimming into Michael’s hair. Michael’s hand travels down, cups the side of his neck, resting half on his shoulder, and oh, that’s nice too. Sam’s hard as a rock from just the spillover emotions in the room, and just the warmth of Michael’s hand on his neck is heavenly.

David hand still works between them, he’s murmuring a mix of sweet nothings and pure filth against Michael’s ear, and he twists his wrist just so, and Michael _moans_, his chest heaves, and a shudder rocks through him. He’s wet in David’s hand.

Sam’s dick pulses at the sight.

“Easy, Michael,” David breathes into his hair. “I’ve got you,” he says, one arm around Michael’s chest, steadying him.

“Fuck you,” Michael says quietly but with some genuine bite to it. “I’m so fucking close,” he whines, the hand he has on the back of David’s neck grapples, and David chuckles. Michael’s hips pump into his fist.

Michael arches his neck, and oh, there’s blood still pulsing from the wound on his neck, and Sam? Sam’s a desperate man these days. Sam leans forward and runs him tongue over the sticky red sliding down his neck, and the taste of him is still so undeniably _Michael_, all summer heat and engine grease, that Sam latches on and _sucks_.

“Jesus!” Michael exclaims, jerking in their combined grasp. David shushes him, works his hand slower, makes him whine and writhe. Michael’s cock is slick with precome, and David’s hand glides over it with wet sounds. 

“David, S-Sammy,” Michael stutters out, still so unbearably close and Sam presses closer, Sam’s hard cock pressing against his thigh, and Michael’s eyelids flutter. His brain short circuits when Sam’s hand brushes against his dick. He’s making breathy little noises on each exhale, and he needs to _come_. 

Sam’s teeth, already sharp but starting to lengthen, brush his neck, and _oh_, he thinks he might come if Sam bites him.

“Sam,” David warns. Sam pops off of Michael’s neck, licks his lips, and nuzzles his jawline, but it doesn’t matter because Michael’s still blissed out, still seconds away from coming. Sam’s face slips back to normal.

“God, you’re beautiful like this, Mike,” Sam breathes against his ear, mouthing his unpierced lobe. His hand is doing a complicated dance with David’s, somehow neither of them losing rhythm or fluidity.

“Sammy,” Michael whines, arching against him.

“Hey,” David gruffs out into the curls on the opposite side, chuckling. He tweaks one of Michael’s nipples, and one of Michael’s hands grapples at him, tugs at his hair.

“Let me come,” Michael begs. “Please, David,” he whines.

“You beg so pretty, Michael,” David licks the shell of his ear when he pauses. “But if I let you come,” he gives a twist of his wrist that makes Michael whimper, “what’s in it for us?”

Michael chuckles breathlessly, then forgets what he’s about to say on the upstroke. He moans, startled, and claws at David’s shoulders, hands scraping and bunching the fabric of his jacket, and god, what he’d give to touch some _skin._

The joke’s on David because Michael’s going to come anyway, and he opens his mouth to say so right before both hands on his cock still. He whines.

David’s teeth, long and sharp, ghost the skin behind his ear. His voice is slurred with them when he breathes out, _Michael, _ and his smirk is obvious against the shell of Michael’s ear, _How far will you go? What will you give us?_

It’s an out, and Michael thinks about taking it, just to see if they _would_ back off, but his dick’s pulsing is their still hands, precome still leaking from the tip, the drip of it as it slides from his slit to Sam’s unmoving fingers almost has him hot, could probably set him off if he really focused.

His mind’s moving a thousand miles an hour and he blurts out _fuck me_, and David’s tongue stills too where it’s making contact with the whorls of his ear. 

“I want you to fuck me,” he says, like David hasn’t fucked him a dozen times in the last week alone. David’s fingers tighten rewardingly around Michael anyway, but he doesn’t resume stroking, just gives him the barest of friction when he squirms.

“And Sam?” David asks.

Michael’s hit with the image of himself on his knees, spread wide with David’s cock, and oh, even in his mind like this he’s still so fucking _close_. David’s cockhead rubs inside of him just the right way, and Sam’s at the foot of the bed, watching, hand around his own prick, and the glisten of it has Michael’s head spinning.

“He can w-watch,” Michael stammers out.

And David’s fingers glide over him whisper-smooth as he pulls his hand away. It has Michael whimpering and bucking against David’s hold.

“Is that all?” David asks.

“_Please_,” Michael begs. Sam’s still slack jawed watching the two of them like this, still has a hand loose around Michael’s dick. 

David purrs against his ear, snakes a hand back down through the hair under his navel, and the image in Michael’s head shifts and suddenly it’s Sam’s full lips around his cock, sucking him down like he’s thirsty for it, like he’s waited all his life to do this. Michael whines, and David knows he’s past the breaking point.

“—Suck me,” he says. “Want Sammy to suck me,” and it’s Sam’s hand’s turn to tighten around him. _Fuck yeah,_ Michael groans. 

He can imagine it. Sam’s mouth skilled, hot, and deliciously wet around the head of his weeping dick. The loud _pop_ of saliva when his mouth pulls off, the feel of his writhing tongue against his frenulum, his slit.

“David, please,” he begs. He’s near tears and panting, sweat staining the neck and center of his t-shirt. “I’m going to come whether you do anything or not,” he says.

David hums against his neck, dips his tongue back into the drying blood, pokes at the wound. The way Michael’s voice quivers is beautiful, and David’s eyes meet Sam’s the moment Sam thinks he’d die to taste Michael in this moment, wants to feel him on his tongue, and David’s thoughts come in his head, say _down on your knees._

When David’s hand closes around him for good, Sam has just enough time to drop down and lick soft at the head of him before Michael is cursing and moaning, jerking against Sammy’s tongue and spilling into his open mouth as David’s hand slowly and firmly works him through it.

Sam can’t even be disappointed, not really, because Michael still tastes of sunshine and engine grease, of salt water and warmth, and it’s not quite as electric as his blood, but it’s a close second. Sam swallows what he’s given and licks kitten soft at the wet tip, the point of his tongue delving into the slit, making Michael buck and shudder and whine.

“Easy,” David soothes, voice pitched low in Michael’s ear. Michael’s curls are damp against his nose, the corner of his lips. He’s panting, still slick with sweat and fever-hot, leaned back against David and still so goddamn beautiful that David can’t help but press a kiss under his ear. Can’t help the way the hand that was on Michael’s dick now slides up the damp, quivering skin of his stomach or the way his hips grind forward into him, and Michael—sweet, darling Michael—makes a tiny, choked noise and _pushes back_. 

Sam’s hands and mouth have left him, but Sam’s still at his feet, watching. And Michael’s a sight now, jeans open and slipping, dick still half hard. His face and neck are flushed and glistening. Sam wants to get his mouth back on him, to suck him _properly_, but he can watch, too.

David rakes his fingers through the hair on Michael’s stomach just to feel him squirm, Michael arching into the burn of fingernails on delicate skin, then slides to the ridge of his hipbone, pulls him back to meet the press of David’s hips. David’s mouth drags along the juncture of his shoulder, the tip of his tongue trails as far as the collar of Michael’s shirt will allow, then back up again, over drying blood and sensitive skin, and Michael’s breath hitches when he does. 

“Tell me what you want, Michael,” David husks against his skin, even though he already _knows_. The _want_ that Michael feels reverberates through him, thick and heady and pounding in time with Michael’s heartbeat. David’s fangs drop with it, he can feel his face rearrange unbidden.

“God, _David_,” Michael begs, fingers scrabbling at the arm still around his ribs holding him steady. He’s fully hard again now, moisture beading at his slit already and the wound on his neck positively _aching_, an itch threatening to drive him insane.

“I said, _tell me,_” David’s words are slurred through a mouthful of teeth, voice deeper like this. His other hand palms at his hip as Michael squirms.

“_Please,_” Michael tries again, grinding his hips back, and if David didn’t know better, couldn’t feel Michael’s desire through the link he has open, couldn’t feel the pounding of his heart so loudly in his ears twined in with it, David would think Michael was begging for something else. But David _can_, and he drags his mouth against the bite on Michael’s neck one more time, ghosts his teeth against it, and Michael _whines_ so fucking loud that there’s no mistaking what he wants.

“_Please_, David. Your teeth, god, _please_, bite me, it _hurts_,” he babbles, and that’s not quite right, but he aches all the same, aches _for_ it, for the sharp pain and the connection and the sheer _bliss_ of it.

His already damaged skin parts smoothly under David’s fangs. The burn and sting of it leaves him gasping, and when David purrs against his skin and _sucks_, Michael moans, breathy and loud. It’s _good, so fucking good_. David’s tongue is wicked on him, laving filthily against his leaking skin, and Michael is _hot_, burning up, _melting_.

“Oh, fuck, _David_,” he whines, and god, he thinks he could come just from this. David pulls off, presses deceptively soft kisses to the surrounding skin, lets Michael’s blood trickle down, nearly to his shoulder, then licks it back up. Seals his mouth back over the wound, works his tongue against it, sucking, bruising the skin as Michael arches his neck and bares more skin to him.

Michael whimpers. His hand unconsciously inches toward his cock. He needs just a little bit of friction, anything to take the edge off of this. He’s leaking steadily, cock jerking and throbbing, and he nearly sobs when David bats his hand away.

David’s mouth lets go with a wet _pop_. He licks his way up, presses a sloppy, filthy kiss below Michael’s ear, ghosts now-human teeth against the shell of it, bites and tugs.

“You taste so fucking good,” he growls into Michael’s ear, punctuating it with another roll of his hips that has Michael gasping again. “Have to get my mouth on you, need to taste you.”

And, _oh_, that’s enough to make his eyes lose focus. He doesn’t know how he makes it to the bed, simply finds himself coaxed onto it, his shirt already peeled off. The mattress dips under the press of David’s knee, and when David backs him up on it, Michael drunkly tugs at the hem of his hoodie. David strips it off with a hint of a grin, hair mussed, torso elongated with the stretch, and oh, he’s beautiful. Even the scars on his chest, the flayed angel wing spread of them, don’t diminish it. V of his hips visible, all bone and corded muscle, and Michael reaches forward to _touch_, but David slips back out of reach. 

“If you don’t want this, Michael,” David starts, teasing. Smug. If Michael weren’t still dizzy from David’s teeth in his neck, Michael would think like he’s is about to turn anything down. Like there’s anything David could give him, or take from him, that Michael would say no to. “All you have to say is _no_.” 

But Michael’s brain is still buzzing, his dick still achingly hard, and all he can think about is David’s hands on him, David’s mouth on him. His skin flushes and crawls with the want of it. 

David pushes him down and Michael falls willingly, hand reaching out to skim his arm on the way down, and then Sam is leaning over him, running a hand along his jaw, saying _Mike?_

“Sammy?” He asks, stupidly, staring right at him, as David tugs his pants the rest of the way down. 

Sam’s eyes are half-lidded, flush still on his cheeks. Sam’s half-sprawled out next to him, and David’s sliding his boxers off his shins, and Michael can’t stop looking at the glistening pink of Sammy’s mouth. Michael doesn’t even think about it, just grabs his fingers in the short strands of Sam’s hair and pulls him closer. Sam meets him the last inch, and of fucking course Sam tastes like blood and come (_his_ come) and cotton candy, sugary sweetness of flavored lip balm on him, but it’s heady, too, how _Sam_ it is. Sam’s tongue touches his, and Michael’s moaning into it, Sam’s mouth good against his, and then Sam’s pulling back, breaking them apart just as David’s tongue licks a hot stripe from base to tip. 

Michael curses and claws uselessly at the bedspread, and if Sam hadn’t broken them apart Michael might have headbutted him with how fast he sits up to his elbows. A hand goes instinctively for the back of David’s head, tangles unbidden in his blonde hair, when David’s lips wrap around the head and slide downward. It takes everything in Michael not to buck upward. 

“_Jesus_, David,” he moans, and David _hums_ around him, whether to Michael’s praise or the hand pressing him _down_, Michael doesn’t know. Then _sorry, sorry,_ as he realizes he’s _pushing_, and then Sam’s pushing _him_, on back down, off his elbow, pressing soft, slow kisses to the corner of Michael’s mouth while David pulls off and presses his own soft, slow kisses to the soft insides of Michael’s thighs. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

Then Sam’s tongue is in his mouth, licking at his teeth and still brine-salty, and Sam pushes his luck, pulls Michael’s hand to the front of his jeans, and _oh_, Michael’s hand curls around the shape of him and he bites at Sam’s mouth with human teeth. 

“God, Mike, you look so good like this,” Sam babbles, like Sam’s the one touching him, and he supposes Sam would be if David wasn’t, if David didn’t have a spit-slick hand stroking him, and then David’s mouthing at the head, sliding his lips back down. His hand falls from Sammy’s lap. 

It’s sloppy, and it’s wet, David makes soft, low noises with Michael in his mouth and the vibrations nearly kill him. Michael’s dick is throbbing hot against his tongue. David has a hand wrapped around the base of him, moves it in time with the bob of his head, then he’s letting go, gripping Michael’s hips, and sinking lower, _lower_, and it’s a shame David doesn’t do this more often, because he’s _good_ at it, and— 

“I’m gonna—I’m gonna come,” Michael sobs out, and then cool air, and Michael really _could_ sob. David crawls carefully over him, lithe and sinewy, scarred and lightly furred. David’s hands skitter over his stomach, his chest. A thumb brushes his nipple and Michael’s embarrassed by the way his breath hitches. 

“Not yet, Michael,” David purrs, voice full of gravel, thick like poured asphalt, and Michael reels knowing _why_. 

David’s knees are on either side of his waist, and David’s all long length like this, and Michael’s far past being embarrassed to admit that David is gorgeous like this, spread out over Michael’s hips. David’s dark jeans scratch rough against his aching cock, just an accidental brush, making Michael squirm and clutch at David’s thighs, makes Michael stammer out his name. 

And then David’s leaning down, whispering _shh_ against his ear, running that plush mouth achingly tender along the ridge of Michael’s jaw, and then David’s mouth is on his and Michael is digging his fingers into David’s denim-clad thighs. 

His mouth is sweet with precome, salty and slick, and Michael brings a hand to the back of his head, pulls him in and licks up into him, and when David shifts, when the unmistakable hard line of his dick brushes up against Michael’s stomach, even trapped behind denim, it’s like a jolt of electricity and Michael is moaning into his mouth, scrabbling his palm up to touch. 

David grinds down, little curls of his hips and Michael is thankful that the denim is old and worn because even as it stands it’s just this side of painful, but christ almighty, David is hot like this, dick trapped between the hard plane of Michael’s stomach and the heel of his palm. Michael bucks up, thinks what it must be like to fuck him, and, oh— 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Michael?” David’s whispering into his ear, voice low enough that Sam can’t hear, _private_, just for him, and oh, one of David’s hands is around his throat, light pressure, and even to Michael’s ears David sounds just a little too breathy. 

“_Yes_,” Michael grinds out. David’s fingers dig into the bite on his neck, set him ablaze all over again. 

“Bet you _dream_ about it, just like this, me riding you,” David rasps, nosing his damp curls, and lets go of Michael’s throat, reaches back behind him and the angle’s all wrong but his hand is a balm when it brushes up against Michael’s dick, wraps loosely around it, and _oh_, he doesn’t, hasn’t, only thought about it in abstract really because David doesn’t seem the _type_, but oh, it’s all he can think about now. 

His dick is slick with saliva and precome, and even with the bad angle, the loose grip, David is still rocking in tiny circles above him, rutting down against him, and it’s _transcendental_. Then Michael is rising up and David is letting go, moving with him, sticky, slippery hand on Michael’s neck again, thumb slick and pulling at Michael’s bottom lip, then he’s pulling Michael’s head by the hair, forcing him to make eye contact. 

“What do you want, Michael?” He asks, voice low and predatory, and Michael’s drowning. His cock twitches against his thigh. David’s blue eyes are blown black. “Tell us what you want, Michael. Our _company_ wants to know.” 

The mattress dips behind him and another set of hands trace along his back, and fuck, Michael had forgotten about Sammy. David looks behind him, communicates something, and then Sammy’s hands are smoothing down his sides, wrapping around his waist, and David’s still in his lap, but moving back, giving room. David still has a hand fisted in his hair. 

“Hey, look at me,” he says sternly when Michael’s eyes drift. Michael meets his eyes again, and _good boy_, David says, softer, fond, and pats Michael’s cheek with his other hand. Leans his upper body in right when Sam’s hand wraps around his dick, right when Sam’s full mouth slides along his shoulder blade, and David starts talking against his cheek, his ear, and his voice is low but not low enough that Sam can’t hear. 

“Sam’s thought about this, you know,” David says, rubs up against his cheek like a cat. The rough, sandpaper scratch of it is heady. Sam’s thumb runs gentle over the head of his dick, a stark contrast, and Michael bucks up into his hand. David bites at his jaw with human teeth. Michael tries to keep his head from spinning. 

“Thought about what you must look like, bent over the mattress, hard and leaking,” David says, and Michael hears the choked off noise Sam makes against his shoulder, feels Sam’s hand tighten around him. “The noises you make when there’s something inside you...” 

“Mike,” Sam chokes out behind him, and Michael realizes the rumbling purr he can hear is coming from himself. Sam’s pressing sweet kisses to his skin, his hand slickly gliding over Michael’s dick, and oh, Michael’s close, again, and as soon as he thinks it, as soon as he bucks up into the heat of Sam’s fist, it’s gone and he’s left panting and shaking, still trapped between the two of them. 

“Please,” he croaks out, and his voice is broken, half feral and all gravel. “Please, just get on with it. Just let me come,” and oh, he’s a broken record now, and he can feel the pull of David‘s smile against his cheek before he pulls away. 

Then Sam is tugging at him and Michael lets himself be guided, swings around on his knees, and Sammy’s always been good looking, always been beautiful, and he supposes that’s an older brother thing, but here and now, he’s gorgeous. Golden skin and pink, swollen mouth. And maybe they’ve always been too close, too forward, and vampirism was bound to take a toll on it. Maybe the way Michael crowds over him, walks him backwards, Sam’s unbuttoned shirt falling open, exposing candy pink nipples, god, maybe this was inevitable. 

Michael thinks of bloodlust, of Sammy naked in the bath all those years ago. And Sammy, now, the years have been kind to. He’s filled out, no longer a skinny kid. Defined, dramatic jawline, square chin, looking up at Michael with hooded doe eyes, mouth parted and wet, and oh— 

“Gorgeous,” he blurts out, and feels his ears redden, but keeps going, because Sam’s look is _hungry_, and his shirt slips down off his shoulders as he moves and then Sam is sliding his arms out of it and over Michael’s shoulders, so fucking gently that Michael aches with the sweetness of it. “God, Sammy, look at you...” 

“Like what you see?” Sam laughs, and he’s got that crooked, toothy grin, and god, his brother, he finally has his brother back after years of Sammy being a washed out shell of himself, and Michael grins back, kisses him, too hard, all teeth with their smiles, and then Michael is following that arching jawline with his mouth. 

“I’ve missed you,” he says, and it’s stupid and sappy and god, of all fucking times, but he if he doesn’t say it, he’ll burst with it. 

“Mike,” Sam laughs. “I’ve been right here.” 

“Not what I meant,” Michael mumbles against his skin, and then he’s moving down, places wet, open-mouthed kisses on Sam’s collarbone and Sam squirms. When Michael licks over a nipple, Sam sucks in a breath like he’s dying, and when Michael closes his mouth, his _teeth_, over it, Sam arches up into him with the most beautiful of sounds. His thumb toys with the other and Sam pants out his name, and god, Michael thinks, he’s still so fucking pretty even grown up like this. 

It’s easy from there to kiss down his quivering stomach, the light trail of hair disappearing under his waistband. Easy to undo his tented pants with hands steadier than he feels, easy to pull them down. And Sam’s gorgeous here, too, so goddamn pretty and flushed pink. Michael’s mouth waters. 

A hand curls around Michael’s hip, and then David’s draped over his back, whispering in his ear, and Michael’s pulling off and straightening up, pushing David back with him and giving Sammy the space to peel the fabric off his long, slender legs. Michael can’t help but watch the curve of them as he does. 

“You want to suck him off,” David whispers in his ear, and it’s not a question, it’s a simple fact that Michael doesn’t deny. Michael wants desperately to be in between his little brother’s thighs, wants to dig his fingers into the muscle of them. Wants to wrap his mouth around him, taste the musk of him. 

“He’s pretty, isn’t he?” David continues, and all Michael can grind out is _yeah_, because David has a slick finger sliding over his entrance, and yeah, he wants that too. David’s fingers trace over him, pushing and pulling back, never breaching. 

“And you, Michael,” David says, teeth dragging sharp over his shoulder. “You look good with something in your mouth.” 

He’s so relaxed, loose and turned on, that David’s finger slips easily inside. Michael gasps at the intrusion, hole fluttering around it, sucking, clenching, and Michael loves it like this, when David can get him loose and pliant before even slipping a finger inside, and it’s _good_, heaven, even. David slips out, thumbs more slick at his rim, and Michael’s mewling, squirming at the teasing press of that digit, the wetness slipping inside of him. When David slips his finger back in, Michael groans. Feels sweat slipping down his brow, tickling down his chest. 

“Easy, Michael,” David repeats. His other hand is on Michael’s hip, holding him steady. 

Sam’s hand touches his cheek, and when Michael opens his eyes, it’s to Sam’s blown black in front of him. _Mike_, Sammy says, like it’s the only word he knows, the only sentence he’s capable of, and Michael’s running hot all over, thighs burning where he’s crouched on his knees. He brings his hands up around Sammy’s neck, needing the ground of it. A second finger teases at his hole, never going past the first knuckle when it brushes into him. Michael whimpers and presses back, but David pulls back again. 

“Why don’t you tell _your brother_ how it feels, Michael?” David all but growls and sinks both fingers all the way in. Michael shudders and groans. One of his hand clenches in Sam’s hair and he nearly misses the little noise Sam makes. 

“It’s good, Sammy,” he rasps out, still shaking. His dick is drooling precome between them, and when David crooks his fingers, drags them against Michael’s prostate, he’s pitching forward, face pressed into Sam’s neck, babbling: _it’s good, it’s good, mmm, god, Sammy, it’s so good_, and if there was a single neuron in his brain that wasn’t consumed with this, he’d be embarrassed of the noises he’s making, the words coming out of his mouth, but Sammy just holds onto him, says _I’ve got you, Mike,_ and _you’re doing so good, Mike, so good for us_. 

Michael nearly chokes on his breath when another finger pushes inside. The stretch of it, the difference from two to three, is always just short of _too much_ at first, but fades quickly into pleasure, quicker still when they _spread_, brush up over that bundle of nerves, send sparks up his spine, and he’s going molten, liquid, rocking back into it and stuttering Sammy’s name over and over. 

Sam murmurs _hey, hey_, strokes the side of his face, back into his curls, until Michael pulls his face enough out of Sam’s shoulder that Sam can pepper honey-sweet kisses on his cheek, his mouth. Until Sam is swallowing down the groan he makes when David pulls his fingers out, empty and aching, and there’s no finesse to the way he kisses at this point, but Sam’s mouth is soft and inviting against his, and Sam’s still stroking his hair, murmuring against his mouth how good he is. 

Behind him, David’s lips brush the bunched muscle of his shoulder, ghost across the back of his neck, and David is murmuring, too, directing him down on hands and knees and Sam is making eye contact with David, that wordless communication between them again, then Sam’s slipping back, half under Michael still, their legs surely a tangled mess, but it doesn’t matter because Sam licks into Michael’s mouth again the same moment David’s cockhead presses in in _in_, and— 

All of Michael’s nerve endings are _on fire_. His brain short-circuits. For a moment, can’t even gasp in air, forgets how to _breathe_, and David is still sliding in, moving slow and purposeful, letting Michael feel every _inch_ until he’s squirming with it, so fucking _full_ that he’s afraid he’ll choke on it by the time he bottoms out. 

“David,” he whines, and his hands are clenched in the blankets they didn’t even strip. Sam’s hands are petting the hair from his face and he _knows_ more than sees Sam watching him, watching every twitch of his face, every bead of sweat that runs from his temple, rapt, like Michael is some otherworldly being, and well. He’s human. Maybe that’s close enough. 

David doesn’t give him long to adjust. Just a few seconds to _savor_ the feeling, then he’s pulling back and pushing back in. Michael yelps, _oh!_, flush running over him, down from the top of his head and back up again. It’s still too much, he’s filled too full, but it’s _good_. 

“God, Mike,” Sammy’s saying again, and his voice betrays him, brimming with something like awe, then Sammy kisses him again and Michael lets him even though the angle is hell on his neck, but Sammy keeps it short and sweet. 

It takes exactly three more strokes before David’s cockhead drags just right against his prostate. Michael chokes on a groan, David’s hips snapping in earnest, and he’s pressing _down_ between Michael’s shoulders, bending him further, pushing him down onto his elbows, and Sam’s falling back, out of the way, and then Michael’s face to face with Sammy’s perfect, pretty cock, and it’s wet and flushed, and he’s saying Michael’s name, and Michael’s dizzy just from the smell of him, and when David gives a particular harsh thrust, Michael groans and knows he’s not going to last much longer. 

David’s fingernails rake up the insides of his thighs, skirt straight past his dick, his balls, and Michael’s panting against Sam’s hip, and from there—well. It’s easy to put his mouth on him, first the taut skin of his hip, and then to drag his mouth along that glistening length, and Sam’s choking out his name, a pleading mantra, and his precome is slick on Michael’s lips and he’s licking it off and it’s _sweet_ and— 

Sam’s hands are in his hair when he wraps his lips around the tip, and oh, the sounds Sammy makes are beautiful, and Michael has to brace himself, body trying to rock forward with David’s thrusts, and he’s sweating, it’s pouring out of him, hair limp and stringy and it’s dripping on Sam, and he knows, god, he knows he’s overdue here, his dick is drooling onto the mattress. 

But Sam’s dick is salty and warm on his tongue and he bobs his head, swallows him down and _sucks_, and Sammy shouts his name, and when David rolls his hips just right and Michael _moans_, Sammy nearly howls above him. 

Sam’s hips squirm under him, and there’s a stream of words coming from his mouth, _god, Mike, oh, I love you, mmm, your mouth is perfect, that feels so good, you’re perfect, I love you,_ and when Michael peers up, Sammy’s lips are swollen, red on them where he’s bitten through his bottom lip, and fuck, he’s beautiful. 

Then David’s hand is wrapping around his own dick, and Michael has to pull off of Sammy because two pumps of David’s fist and he’s coming with a shout, David’s hand on his shoulder, pulling, leveraging, and David’s hips are snapping fast against him, loud in the acoustics of the room, the stimulation drawing it out and out and _out_ until Michael is sobbing. 

David’s not far behind him, hips stuttering with a groan. Michael can feel his cock jerk inside of him, the wet burst when he comes, and it’s enough that Michael’s dick gives one last pathetic jerk of its own, one last tiny dribble of come. 

“Oh, god, _Mike_,” Sammy moans, and his hand is stripping fast over his cock, head so pink and swollen, slipping wetly through the curl of his fingers, and then he’s coming, too, sticky ropes that land on Michael’s cheek. 

In the come down, when David’s pulled out of him and he’s leaking again onto the mattress for a different reason, when he’s reaching up finally with a shaky hand to wipe Sam’s jizz off his face, Sam says, “Oh, jeez, Mike. I’m so sorry,” and he’s earnest, means it, like Michael’s gonna be mad. 

Michael just laughs, plants a noisy kiss on Sam’s hip, the skin salty and damp under his lips. Sammy’s lip is already healed, a thin run of dried red all that remains of it, and when Michael crawls over him, Michael kisses that, too, and knocks his sweaty forehead against Sammy’s. 

“Love you, Sammy,” is all he says before he slinks off on unsteady legs to find David. 

It’s Sam’s bed he’ll be in later anyway. 

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on tumblr to chat!


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